


Tuxedo Frappuccino

by InkSkratches



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Tuxedo frappes are not on the menu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkSkratches/pseuds/InkSkratches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan didn’t frequent Starbucks for the urge to satisfy any cravings for the overpriced garbage they offered at the counter. He went for the atmosphere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tuxedo Frappuccino

Right next to the City Center shopping complex was a Starbucks.

As much grief as Eridan Ampora heard from people about not being able to take two steps without stubbing a toe on a Starbucks, this particular coffee shop was the only one within a ten mile radius that wasn’t just a shitty little nook tucked away in a grocery store. And he had no use for grocery store Starbucks. That would imply actually liking the mass-churned shit they pumped through their filters and poured into cups of watery cream. Because if he was being honest with himself, that was really what it was. Heated water with a few flavorings. He was loathe to really call the stuff coffee at all. And the tea? Scoff. Multiple scoffs and sniffs and a knowing pat to the drawer of organics he kept tucked away in his own apartment.

No, Eridan didn’t frequent Starbucks for the urge to satisfy any cravings for the overpriced garbage they offered at the counter. He went for the atmosphere.

There was something about setting his laptop up in a place that was warm, thick with the smell of coffee. And even if it wasn’t the best aroma, or if the muzak playing over the speakers dipped to a distasteful level of artistic pretense, the heart of the place always hummed with a certain pulse. Because there was something about the way the air was eternally thick with chatter and the scent of wind-nipped skin that made it feel alive.

It was a very different feeling than the atmosphere that hung over his studio apartment.

Over the years he’d tried a few things to dispel it. Went on trips, bought some abstract sculptures made of gnarled wood and crystal to tuck into the corners, acquired a few antique coffee tables with gold trim, purchased purple-heavy art for the kitchen and pensive fantasyscapes for the walls of his living room. But most of his efforts had been focused on his desk.

It was still brand new. And no matter how much he used it, spilled tea over it, sat in the ergonomic chair, he couldn’t scrub the sterile scent of _newness_ out of it. It had resulted in the purchase of more shit than the polished mahogany surface could really deal with. He had an army of hand-painted figures that were intended to be used in tabletop RPGs, but that he had just liked the look of when he’d stumbled across them online. Sometimes he’d arrange them, grouping them by class and race. And sometimes, when the ache of work began gnawing unbearably at the backs of his eyes, he’d set his laptop on the floor and have his little figures wage war. Efforts to make the battlefield more authentic and interesting had been the source of his other purchases. A glass paperweight filled with purple liquid, a miniature of an old Irish castle, a hand-carved jewelry box that he’d filled with his own personal collection of gold jewelry, a few rolled up maps that he’d laid on the top shelf of the desk when he wasn’t using them, sculptures of dragons twisted around crystal balls.

The end result was a space that was hardly able to accommodate his laptop anymore.

Yet. Despite the vibrancy of the orcs and elves and dwarves and druids, despite the smell of otherworldliness that the constant presence of tea and parchment provided him, it still wasn’t enough.

Sterility was a hard scent to scrub out.

So he quickly became dependent on the Starbucks next to the shopping complex. And even though it was constantly packed to the point where he swore he could hear the walls creak, that was part of the appeal. There was never a moment that the place was empty. Not even during a fit of sweaty insomnia, where he’d find himself loosely clutching the handle of his laptop case at five o’clock in the morning, staring up at the chalked board of specials. Even at those times, there was always a comforting hum of chatter behind him, and the sight of other people huddled over computers or nestled into their jackets, nursing tall espressos.

But as much of a draw as the constant activity was, it also repelled him. Because on each excursion, Eridan required a table to himself where he could set up his laptop and tap away at the documents that had been foisted on him at the office for completion over the weekend. If there was no available table, the whole trip was classified as an immediate bust. Because, if he was being honest with himself, he really didn’t go for the drinks.

It was on one such morning that he found himself glaring at the other patrons as he made his way out of the November air and into the orange-lit warmth of the shop. He’d suspected that winter would be a busier time, but he hadn’t quite been counting on a complete lack of table availability at seven o’clock in the fucking morning.

He kept his mouth dipped behind his scarf as he dragged his laptop case in line behind the people ordering drinks in front of him. It was from this vantage point that he squinted from behind his wayfarers at the main lounge. Getting a spot would require some careful fucking planning at this point. Because he hadn’t rolled out of bed and carefully quaffed his dyed hair for nothing. But it soon became quite clear that none of the outlets were available. It was not the ideal situation, but he could deal with it as long as he was able to get a table to himself. Further irritable squinting provided him with the knowledge that if he wanted to sit anywhere at all he was going to have to go with the shitty little ledge that they’d stuffed a chair next to by the—oh, wait, no, some fucker who’d been ahead of him had taken that one too.

Well then.

“You’re holding up the line.”

Eridan had been aiming a particularly poignant glower at the ledge thief when the voice made its way into his ears. He blinked, pulling his mouth from the purple folds of his scarf and eyeing the green-aproned guy behind the counter.

He was new. Eridan could at least recognize all the baristas at this point, but the face staring sullenly back at him did not prompt any remembrance from his admittedly sleep-dulled brain. So he just blinked a few times, lips pursing.

“Don’t rush me,” was what he decided to reply with. New guy could chill the fuck out. Eridan had pumped more money into this shitty Starbucks than probably all the other current patrons combined, so if he wanted to stare petulantly at the full tables, he was damn well going to.

The guy shrugged his alarmingly angled shoulders. It drew attention to the fact that one of his apron straps wasn’t adjusted correctly, making the whole thing hang lopsidedly off his neck.

It just made Eridan want to rip something in half.

“Do you got bagels?” he asked at last. Maybe if he ordered food it would provide enough stall time for one of the fuckers taking up his space to get out. Eridan could not for the life of him figure out how so many shitty teenagers could be awake at fucking seven o’clock in the morning to be snatching up his table space. Was it already Christmas break? He couldn’t believe it was already Christmas break.

“I said no. Twice now.”

Eridan blinked back at the new guy. He noticed that he had a slight lisp. Probably a product of the unfortunate dental situation just barely visible behind his thin lips as he spoke.

“Hey. Guy. No bagels.”

“I heard you, I’m just thinkin’,” Eridan snapped. God, this asshole was rude. He peered at the other baristas behind the counter, all scrambling to fix drinks. It figured that they’d give the new guy the easy job. Eridan sighed a particularly put-upon sigh.

“Grande chai latte with soy, then. Extra hot.” He pulled out his wallet and leafed through the bills. New guy rang him up in silence before looking back up at him.

“Want your receipt?”

His lisp was quickly becoming unbearable. “Keep it. Token a my generosity.”

The guy arched an incredulous eyebrow at him. “Sure thing, pal.”

He crumpled it and tossed it beneath the register.

“Got a name?”

Eridan was tempted to respond in the negative, but he was in too sour a mood to bother fucking around with shitty new hires. “Ampora.”

“Like the jar?”

Eridan’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or impressed that this sullen fuck had the vocabulary to encompass such a word. “Yeah, except not at all, because there’s a fuckin’ H in amphora.”

“Eh, just wondered about the spelling,” New Guy replied, scribbling the name on the cup in the most abysmal chicken-scratch Eridan had ever had the displeasure to behold.

“Okay well, then I’ve just told you. No H.”

“Got it.”

“Wouldn’t be able to tell anyway, not sure how anyone’s gonna be able to read that.”

He gave Eridan an almost withering look. Like he pitied him for even attempting to hurt his feelings through insulting his hand writing. It just served to make Eridan’s mood worse.

“So look,” he said as New Guy handed off the cup to one of the other, better, baristas. “I come in here every day and I always get a table. I’ve got work to do.”

“That’s cool. There’s a person behind you.”

“Okay, you’re not fuckin’ listening. I need a table to set up my laptop. I came here to sit at a table. Like, I could give less of a flyin’ fuck about the chai I just ordered, I need table space, that is what I am givin’ this place my money for.”

New Guy shrugged. “Okay? You want a refund on the drink I just put in or what?”

“No, dammit, I want a table.”

It was quite obvious that New Guy was trying to suppress an eye roll. “Fine. Just stay there for a second.”

It was more like a few minutes, but the barista had managed to disappear into one of the back rooms and reappear with a chair held in his wiry arms. He hefted it towards the counter on the other end of the food display case and plunked it down. The hand he thrust out toward it afterward was very Peeved Vanna White.

“There you go. Table space.”

Shitty table space, but it was better than nothing. Eridan sniffed before setting himself up at the little counter, pulling his laptop from its case and opening it. As it hummed to life, he let his eyes wander back to New Guy, who had gone back to servicing the to-go orders still churning through the store.

His hair was an offense to hair everywhere. Black and scruffy to the point that Eridan wondered if he’d even bothered to comb it after rolling out of bed that morning.

His laptop flickered and his fantasyscape desktop popped open in front of him. He pulled up MSWord and yanked a couple papers from where he’d propped the case up on the legs of his chair. He was about halfway through the first paragraph of his report before the _plock_ of cardboard sounded at his elbow.

“Chai latte with soy, extra hot,” came the lisping voice from behind him. Eridan looked up just in time to see New Guy’s eyes flicking over his monitor. “Nice desktop. Is that WOW?”

The tone of his voice sounded vaguely sarcastic, but his face was impassive. Eridan pursed his lips with suspicion, staring up at the guy’s—mismatched? Was one of them really blue?—eyes.

He hadn’t noticed them before. And for a moment he was completely transfixed. Until he remembered he’d actually been asked a question.

“Uh, no. I don’t have time for videogames and shit, at least not anymore. This was just something I pulled up off the internet. I follow a couple art sites.”

“Oh. Nice,” New Guy replied without much interest. “Well, anyway. Enjoy your latte.”

Eridan turned back to his screen, but his eyes slid back to the barista as if they were magnetized. There was no longer a line at the counter, and so apparently New Guy had taken his place back by the drinks, where one of the other baristas was showing him how to mix things.

So Eridan was unsurprised when, the next time he walked into the coffee shop, New Guy was calling out drink orders and steaming lattes instead of working the register. Probably for the best, considering he wasn’t exactly optimum customer service.

It was a slower day, so Eridan did not have to demand table accommodations. He set his laptop up by one of the outlets while he waited for his soy chai latte, approaching the counter once his computer had gotten itself busy starting up.

“I sincerely hope they’ve trained you adequately on the art a chai lattes,” Eridan remarked as he stood in front of the counter, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black pea coat. “I realize I can only expect so much from Starbucks, but I’ll send that shit right back if it doesn’t at least meet minimum expectations.”

New Guy gave him that withering look that vaguely resembled pity as he continued working the steamer. “Sure,” he replied.

As he turned to set the finished drink on the counter, Eridan caught sight of the nametag pinned to the garish green apron.

Sollux.

“So you’re new here, Sollux?” he asked, lifting the latte to his lips, blowing carefully into the little hole on the cap.

Sollux stared back at him blankly. “Uh. Yeah? You saw me being trained last time. You want points for observation or something? Or are you just looking for an excuse to send back my latte?”

“That remains to be seen,” Eridan replied, still testing the heat of the drink against his lips. “But I’m not leavin’ to go back to my seat until I’ve verified the quality of this thing.”

A shrug. “Fine with me. Looks like your laptop could stand to get stolen anyway.”

Eridan whirled around to check on his computer setup. It remained untouched. Slowly, he turned back to Sollux.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Another shrug. “That it’s a shitty brand?”

“It’s a Mac,” Eridan replied, affronted.

“That’s the point,” Sollux replied as he poured the milk for another drink. “Like what are you, some liberal arts college freshman?”

“I work on accountin’ for a business.”

Sollux gave him a walleyed look. “Seriously? That’s even worse, dude. I’m surprised they haven’t quarantined you for being an a liability to the company. Wow. Venti mocha frappe for Jessica!”

He reached across Eridan to set the drink up on the counter.

“Who are you to judge the quality of my tech anyway, you work at a fuckin’ coffee shop,” Eridan replied after the girl had retrieved her coffee and returned to her seat.

“Uh. I do freelance coding. Like, that’s my real job. This is just something to get me out of the house.”

A squint of suspicion as Eridan continued to test the latte against his lips. “I seriously fuckin’ doubt that. Nice try, though, it would’ve been impressive if it was even remotely close to not bein’ a steamin’ heap a bullshit.”

Sollux shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I really don’t care if you think it’s BS or not. I mostly just care about whether or not I have to remake your drink.”

Eridan pursed his lips at him before testing the latte again. It was about at drinking temperature, so he took a tentative sip. He lowered the cup, stroking his tongue against his palate, letting the flavor of the chai sink into his taste buds.

Sollux gave him an incredulous stare as he steamed another latte.

“Well?”

“I’m thinkin’.”

An eye roll.

More thoughtful sips.

“I guess it’s fine.”

“Super. Mind clearing out of here then? Tall mocha for Barb!”

Eridan gave him a glare, but really he had no interest in speaking to such a shitty employee for longer than he had to anyway.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Until he found himself standing at the counter the next day waiting for his chai, laptop booting up across the room.

“So like, do you actually ever work?” Sollux asked as mixed the chai with the soy milk.

“I’m workin’ right now.”

“I mean at an office or some shit.”

“Sometimes.”

“Sure.”

The air was full of warm chatter, the loudest of which came from one of the bigger tables where a group of women were all animatedly discussing something over coffee. A few of them were clutching books, and it made Eridan wonder if it wasn’t some kind of club.

“Chai latte with soy, extra hot.”

As soon as it was clomped down in front of him, Eridan picked it up and began testing it against his lips.

“Dude, why do you even bother with the extra hot if you just sit there nursing the thing until it hits a normal temperature?”

Eridan glowered. “This has gotta last me at least an hour while I draw up a report. If I didn’t have to ensure quality on account a your status as a rookie, I wouldn’t even get to touchin’ it for about another twenty minutes.”

“Sure.”

“Why do you say shit like I’m not bein’ sincere, it’s really fuckin’ intolerable,” Eridan snapped, lifting his lips from the lid of his chai.

“I was just saying sure. Jesus Christ.”

“Well you could do to be more polite about it, you’re workin’ customer service, all right? Your job depends on my satisfaction.”

Sollux reached for one of the syrup pumps, squirting caramel sauce into a cup. “I already told you, I don’t depend on this job for income. Just gets me out.”

“Where you can let your shitty personality spread like some kinda disease amongst the innocent population?”

Sollux blinked up at him mid-squirt. Then his face crumpled, spots of bright pink appearing on his cheeks as he snorted with laughter.

It made his mismatched eyes glimmer in a way that had Eridan’s stomach tightening until all memory of trying to act affronted had been squeezed out of him.

“Yeah, my sarcasm is like the fucking Ebola virus. Maintain a safe distance. Also I got heat yesterday for swearing on the job, so just pretend I’ve actually been attempting to censor myself.”

Eridan almost ensured him that he would when he remembered that Sollux was a shitty barista that deserved to get canned anyway. Especially if he didn’t even need the job. There were probably plenty of other poor teens who could use the work more.

He took a careful sip of his drink.

“Okay, it’s satisfactory. Carry on, I guess.”

“Sure.”

Eridan made his way back to his seat then, where he put a valiant effort into getting his report done and not letting his eyes wander back to the counter, where he could see Sollux’s bony fingers grabbing spoons and cardboard cups and whisking and steaming and pumping endless squirts of horrible syrup into drinks. And it had nothing to do with who it was, he told himself, it was just transfixing. Made the place seem more alive than he’d ever felt it before, and it struck him that he’d never really paid the baristas much mind until now.

He made a note of it. Not a large one, something more like a post-it slapped on the back corner of his mind. To remind himself that there was something remotely interesting about watching even the shittiest barista work.

A sticky note which remained unattended.

Because though most companies spent all year building up for it, the holiday season always seemed to hit the business world before anyone was quite prepared for it. Which meant the scramble to line up financials for the next few months while also making sure everything remained in that neat line in time to close out the fiscal year.

It meant a lot of headaches and a lot of late nights sitting at his desk nursing those headaches while he stared at his computer screen.

His manager had begun making a daily habit of reminding him to shift over to a Windows OS so he could run better financial software. And really, Eridan had been expecting the order to come long before now. Because as defensive as he’d been with Sollux, he’d known already in college that if he wanted to continue using his sleek Apple products, he would be throwing himself directly into the jaws of the shitty software beast.

It just irked him that Sollux seemed to know it as well. And that the idiot barista was now being verified by orders from Eridan’s own higher-ups.

He tapped his track pad, sighing at the spreadsheet he’d lined up in front of him.

He really needed coffee.

Just coffee. It had nothing to do with the fact that the sterile scent of his desk had begun sticking in his sinuses, until he could smell nothing else no matter where he was. It had gotten serious enough to demand the constant accompaniment of a travel sized pack of Kleenex in his pocket, and he’d already been asked more than once at the office if he was coming down with something.

To which he always answered that he wasn’t sure.

Because maybe he was. It did happen to be that time of year.

He kneaded his temples and began drawing up a new formula for one of the cells on his spreadsheet. He got about two characters in before one of his hands was wandering to the edge of his desk where he’d set up one of his Elven cavaliers. Eridan galloped the figure across this keyboard, letting the tiny model hooves tap the keys for him.

“The sun sets in a vibrant wash a gold and violet, and the ranger pauses in his journey, ponderin’ over his situation. Maybe he’s undertaken too much, thinkin’ he could track down the bloody vagrant—the Orphaner Dualscar.”

He turned the figure to gaze pensively out over the ruin-littered fields of his desktop. An old capital city, laid waste, the fragments of proud alabaster buildings wrapped in mist. It was one of his favorite fantasyscapes.

“The ranger decides to take a rest on account a bein’ completely fed up with looking at this fuckin’ stretch a numbers cloudin’ his view.”

He minimized the spreadsheet and let his cavalier figure topple over onto the keyboard before he heaved himself out of his chair.

There was only so much number crunching he could take under the oppressive smell of his own desk.

The post-it note on the back of his mind had been neglected for so long that its adhesive was barely keeping it in place anymore. But Eridan managed locate it, snatch it up, and remind himself of the baristas at Starbucks—maybe one of them in particular—and how the way they worked seemed to match the pulse of life that always thrummed through the shop.

He decided to take up cooking.

So the next day, after crunching through an endless string of numbers at the office, he donned his coat and made his way through the gray drizzle hanging over the parking lot to his Mercedes. The engine purred with uncharacteristic pleasure as he pulled into the grocery store and loaded up on ingredients.

Sometimes he thought his car had a better sense of what he wanted than he did.

The first night he tried lobster. The results were rubbery and overcooked, with a dry potato as his side. But while the fare was less than what he’d really been anticipating, it managed to fill his apartment with a vibrancy that glimmered almost as much as the warm air of Starbucks under the chatter of the patrons and whir of the steamers.

So he steeled himself up for Attempt Two the next night, looking up a recipe for baked salmon and steamed vegetables that looked particularly satisfying. And though he still managed to overcook his fish and undercook his carrots, the warm scent that permeated his apartment was almost enough to scrub the sterility from the walls.

Almost.

So one morning he decided he was really quite sick, even though there lingered a fair certainty that he wasn’t. But he called in anyway before packing up his laptop and driving to the Starbucks by the CityCenter shopping complex.

Eridan spotted him the moment he walked through the door and let the warm wash of air pull over him like a blanket. And though he usually liked to pause to enjoy the feel of it—the sheer sensation of _alive_ that the shop seemed to produce—he crossed almost immediately to the counter and ordered his latte from the girl working the register. And then he moved to wait at the other end of the counter where he could see Sollux, sleeves rolled up to his pointy elbows as he worked the steamers and whisked cream.

He thought maybe he would say something, but became rather unexpectedly caught up in just watching the way the skin rolled over the bones in Sollux’s wrists as his hands moved.

“Haven’t seen your mug around here in a while.”

Eridan blinked and saw those mismatched eyes gazing back at him. He had forgotten how almost alarmingly striking the contrast between them was. Especially when they were set in a decidedly unremarkable face. He really wasn’t sure how to feel about the sideburns.

“Really out of it today?”

Another blink. “Um. Oh, yeah, sorry. Guess so. Been fuckin’ hell at work lately.”

Sollux nodded. “Christmas tends to get that way for businesses. Makes me almost feel bad for you, getting stuck with all that accounting shit. Almost.”

He offered a sly leer. And though it was meant as a jab, Eridan couldn’t help but notice the way something in his intestines clenched at the fact that Sollux remembered he worked in accounting.

“Yeah, well,” Eridan began his halting reply. “The salary helps me sleep at night.”

“I bet.” The tone of his reply was flat, though. Like he really didn’t believe it.

Eridan wasn’t sure he believed it either.

“But I took up cookin’ in the mean time,” he added.

Sollux quirked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Mostly just seafood dishes so far though; I have a certain fondness for fish.” He shifted his laptop case from one hand to the other. “Do you, uh. Do you like seafood at all?”

Sollux stared up, mismatched eyes grazing the ceiling as his hands pumped syrup and whisked cream deftly. Like he’d built the movements into his body in the time it had taken Eridan to make a few horrible spreadsheets for his company.

“I don’t know. Does shrimp flavored ramen count?”

Eridan laughed. Or maybe guffawed was a better term for it. Because people didn’t tend to raise their eyebrows at a simple laugh the way Sollux had currently raised his.

Eridan shifted his laptop case over to the other hand again, feeling the dizziness that the sudden burst of his own voice had set buzzing in his skull.

Maybe he really was sick.

“So I take it you don’t do a lot a cookin’ yourself,” he said after Sollux’s eyebrows had settled safely back in place.

“Not really. My diet consists mainly of cup noodles and oatmeal.”

“Gross.”

“Hey. Never turn your nose up at a good cup noodle. One of my nuggets of essential wisdom.”

“Essential wisdom my ass, I still maintain that that’s fuckin’ gross, and I’m surprised you haven’t run yourself up against a vitamin deficiency with it.”

Sollux smiled. Not a smirk or a leer, but a genuine sort of smile that made the corners of his eyes crease.

Eridan really wasn’t sure what had triggered it, but he suddenly found himself floundering over every possibility, trying to grab at the root cause of that smile before he wondered why the fuck he was expending the effort.

“Your concern is touching, but I drink orange juice when I get the chance.”

“I’m sure you do.”

That smile was still there.

Eridan’s insides had begun twisting with alarming discomfort.

“So. If you’re not into cooking and shit, why sign up to mix drinks at Starbucks?”

“Because this place is two blocks from my house and it was hiring?”

“Oh.”

There was the gentle _plock_ of cardboard on vinyl as Sollux set his finished drink down in front of him. Eridan picked it up and lifted it to his mouth, beginning to test the heat of the latte against his lips.

“Still don’t trust me to make it right?”

He paused, the liquid scalding his skin. His gaze settled on that smile, the corners of those thin lips now curled up mischievously.

Eridan lowered the cup.

“Do you…”

He paused. It was long enough to draw in a breath.

It was also long enough for him to mentally finish his sentence— _feel like tryin’ some proper seafood?_ —long enough for him to envision Sollux’s affirmative reply. For him to conjure up the image of Sollux without the green apron, standing awkwardly in the middle of his studio apartment. Long enough for him to imagine the way the room would smell, air thick with the scent of food and the warmth of Sollux’s pulse. Long enough for him to imagine the way those mismatched eyes would look over a plate of steaming fish, to imagine how that long jaw might thoughtfully chew. Long enough for him to think of how they might scrub plates together, how he would lead Sollux back to the door. Long enough. Long enough to envision the way they might come together, just inside the entryway, shoes cushioned on the new welcome mat, in a kiss.

Then he exhaled.

“…have a favorite drink here? Been thinkin’ about switchin’ up my routine.”

“Sounds like topic avoidance.”

“Not tryin’ to avoid anything,” Eridan replied. His own voice sounded oddly breathless to his ears. Like he’d just spent an entire lifetime inside a few seconds. “Short answer is yeah, I still don’t trust you. It’s been a while since I came in, gotta verify that you’ve actually improved your craft.”

Sollux shrugged. “Suit yourself. As far as drinks go, I’m not sure you’d appreciate any of the shit I like. I kind of prefer to take my coffee black. But sometimes if I get hot I like ordering a tuxedo frappuccino.”

Eridan wrinkled his nose. “Never heard a that one.”

“Because it’s not on the menu. It’s like the Starbucks equivalent of the twist cone you can get at McDonalds. Half regular mocha, half white chocolate.”

“Sounds vaguely appetizin’.”

Sollux shrugged. “You’re welcome to try it and cast your judgment accordingly.”

“Might just do that.”

“Uh-huh. Is your latte cool enough yet?”

Eridan blinked and tested the drink against his lips again. He could lie. He could say it wasn’t. He could give himself the chance to try again.

But there was always tomorrow.

And what was he really trying for in the first place?

He took a sip.

“Tastes fine. You’re off the hook again for today.”

“Oh goody.”

Eridan gave him a scoff before taking his laptop case and crossing to the opposite end of the shop where there was a vacant seat beside an outlet. As he pulled his computer from its case and opened it on the table, he let his eyes wander back up to Sollux. Already he was pointy-elbows-deep in another drink, brow slightly furrowed as he concentrated on his whisking.

Eridan turned his gaze back to his laptop, pulling up his spreadsheet.

There was always tomorrow.

After he’d packed up his case and gone home for the day, he began looking up more recipes online. He was mostly angling after a suitable pasta dish. Most people liked a good pasta, to his understanding. Not that he really cared what most people liked, it was just that…

That…

He wasn’t sure how long he could continue trying to lie to himself. Wasn’t sure he even wanted to. Because he was writing down the ingredients list according to preparing dishes with two servings. Or even four.

Sollux was alarmingly skinny. He could do with a second or third helping of things.

Maybe Eridan would try manicotti. Sollux liked noodles, there was a chance he would like manicotti. It wasn’t cup noodles, but…

What was he doing?

He took a screaming hot shower early that night and wrapped himself tightly in the Egyptian cotton sheets of his king size bed. And he found himself wondering, amidst all that expensive fabric, why the fuck he had ever even bothered with such a huge bed in the first place.

When he was in college, he’d had a nasty habit of planning too far ahead. Of taking virtual tours of the Louvre and downloading a French dictionary and looking up Parisian fashion and drawing up a complete itinerary before he’d learned that his college program didn’t allow him the time to allocate to taking a semester abroad.

It had left him with a veritable fucking ton of French things that he never got around to using. That just made a knot form beneath his sternum to see. Like looking upon a branch of possibility in his life that had withered away to blackness long ago.

A king size bed.

It made the same kind of knot curl in his chest.

Haltingly, as if his muscles were working against every ounce of better judgment in his body, his hand dipped beneath the waistband of his underwear. And he thought of that smile and the bright spots of pink that blossomed on those cheeks whenever laughter escaped between the too-thin lips and he thought of those pointy elbows and angled shoulders and the way that maybe he actually liked those sideburns and then he was biting the back of his other hand, broken gasps rushing against the skin.

A cold sort of weight settled in his stomach as he heaved himself up to grab a Kleenex from the bathroom. Like he was standing over a gaping black pit and he’d already extended one foot precariously over it.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

He’d let the other foot follow tomorrow.

After work the next day, he gathered the ingredients for the manicotti recipe he’d found online that had come with at least two hundred positive reviews. He could hardly fuck this up, it was just noodles. Once he’d stored all the newly purchased food items safely in his fridge, he packed up his laptop and got back in his Mercedes. It growled under his keys, engine churning a happy roar as he accelerated down the street toward the City Center Starbucks.

When he finally burst through the door of the shop, cheeks windburnt from the frantic jog across the parking lot, the warmth pulsed over him like a heartbeat, and he sucked in the scent of chatter and life as he tried to still his heaving chest. And his eyes were already flicking about behind his wayfarers, trying to locate that scruffy mop from behind the steamers and rows of shitty syrup pumps.

He was still looking as he approached the counter.

“Is Sollux around?” he asked the barista tending the register.

“Sure,” she replied, smiling even as curiosity lingered behind the polite glaze of her eyes. “He’s getting some more coffee from the back.”

“Okay,” Eridan replied, feeling like a particularly angry cat was trying to claw its way out of his stomach.

“Do you want me to put an order in while you’re waiting?”

“What? Oh. Sure, uh. How about a tuxedo frappuccino?”

The barista smiled and rang him up. He didn’t even hear the price, he just stuffed a bill in her hand before shoving his fist back into his pocket to stifle the trembling that had started in his fingers. He didn’t even wait for his change as he moved to the end of the counter, eyes fixed on the doorway leading to the back storage room.

Then a black mop appeared inside it, a case of coffee held in those wiry arms. Sollux set the box down on the ground before righting himself, popping one of his shoulders and ambling back up to the steamers. He took a look at the receipt the barista at the register had printed for him.

“Going to cast judgment on the tuxedo frappe today?” he asked as he crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash, reaching with his other hand for a clear plastic cup.

“Yeah, looks like it.”

Sollux raised an eyebrow. “You okay? Looks like you swallowed a small alien.”

Eridan could feel how his cheeks blanched. “Maybe I did.”

Sollux snickered. “Cooking not going well or something?”

“No, it’s fine,” he insisted, maybe more forcefully than he meant.

The response he received was two eyebrows raised in distant alarm.

Eridan could feel his other foot still planted on the ledge. Trembling beneath him. A bit of gravel slipped out from beneath the sole of his shoe, and a thrill of terror swooped through his stomach.

“Listen. Sol. I was thinkin’. Well, wonderin’ really. If you might not be terribly busy after your shift ends.”

“Whoa, like tonight?” Sollux asked, eyebrows climbing higher.

More blanching. “Yeah. Or maybe tomorrow, if that works better, I don’t know.”

“Uh… Well, tonight I’ve got dinner plans with my girlfriend. Tomorrow might work better, but I guess that would depend on what it is you need me for.”

Girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

The foot on that ledge slipped, and he found himself falling down for one terrible moment, one second of eternity caught suspended in blank space, before he landed hard on his ass. Staring, trembling, into the vast blackness of possibility. It slammed shut beneath him.

“Oh, you’re datin’ somebody?”

“Yeah…” Sollux replied, those pink splotches appearing high on his cheekbones. “Just recently, actually. She comes in on Saturdays usually. Likes archeology.”

The pink on his cheeks had darkened to scarlet, and his mismatched eyes glimmered oddly.

Eridan felt like his chest was collapsing inside him.

“Wow, she sounds real great.”

“Yeah, she really sort of is,” Sollux replied, scratching distractedly at his brow. “But I was making you a drink, let me just get back to actually doing what I get paid for.”

Eridan was so cold. How could he be so cold in such a warm place?

“No, it’s okay. Just forget it.”

“What?” Sollux looked pale.

“Just. I think maybe I’m not feelin’ so well after all. Might not wanna risk a dairy product at this precise moment.”

“Are you sure?” Sollux’s hand hovered over the syrup pump. “You want me to talk to Rachel? Have her give you your money back?”

There were black pinpricks prodding behind his eyes. “No, just forget it.”

“Are you sure, uh…”

His lips moved, like he was searching for something. A word.

Eridan wanted to laugh. Or maybe guffaw was a more appropriate term.

Sollux was trying to remember his name.

“No, it’s fine, forget it, forget it, forget it,” his voice was nearly drowned out by the frantic clatter of his shoes as he stumbled around, ducking out of the store, just before the air collapsed down around him, choking the life out of his lungs.

The winter air felt blessedly cold.

He cried in his car for longer than he ever intended. Seeing as he had never made plans to cry in the first place.

But the plans he did make never really carried through.

He drove home in silence, kicking his wingtips off on the new welcome mat once he’d pushed through the door, shedding his pea coat on the shoe rack just beside the entryway.

His apartment smelled even more sterile than usual.

And no amount of manicotti could erase the smell.

It wasn’t the smell of _new_.

Had never been the smell of _new_.

Loneliness was pungent. Permanent.

He sat down once the dish was finished baking. He’d broken most of the noodles in his attempts to get the cheese in. Managed to fuck up the un-fuckable dish after all. Though perhaps the tear-blurred vision and trembling hands hadn’t helped.

Four servings was really far too much for one person.

He covered the glass dish with plastic wrap and stuffed it in the fridge.

It was a shame, really, that the Starbucks beside the City Center shopping complex was the only one within a ten mile radius that wasn’t a shitty nook stuffed inside a grocery store. Because after that day, Eridan didn’t go back.


End file.
